Cycles of Time
by critter141151
Summary: Lame title that I will likely change later is lame. Some things that leave you never expect to come back. Life's full of surprises though.


I'd awake from my dream, and find my sheets cold and empty.

That is how they've always been though, no? Maybe years ago it was different, when you'd be curled up beside me. And the morning, I'd always wake first, except on those rare occasions I'd be gone from exhaustion or illness. I'd just stare at you, memorizing your face as you slept.

The very same face I haven't seen in many years.

I'd make my way downstairs, attempt a light breakfast and head out the door to work. It's odd how large, but small the world can be. This tiny world of people, overcrowding nearly everywhere you go. Yet, you still somehow manage to find yourself feeling ever so alone. It's bizarre I tell you.

The day would continue on as nothing, catching the evening trolley and arriving back "home."

What I did not expect to find was your face waiting outside my steps. Nor the coldness that slowly descended in me. You must forgive me, but I told myself not to miss you. You could not handle my temper, and I could not handle your foolishness.

At least... that's what I'd been telling myself.

I don't spare you a glance and simply make my way up the steps into my flat. I don't want to look at you, I don't want to remember.

That's a lie isn't it darling? I've missed you every second you've been gone these past years. I can't bring myself to it though. I can't deal with that pain again.

You grab my arm, and I yank it away. I had to turn to you to do so and your face I can't handle it. Why do you look so sorry, luv? Why do you look like you're about to cry?

You're the one who left me remember? I do. I couldn't forget it and had to live with it every day since. I'm not like you; I don't have other people to go to. I had you, and a select few whom were not close. You called me it yourself, an island.

You beg to me to hear you out, that you were wrong, that it was a mistake. Lies. Stop lying to me, just stop.

I keep walking in and you follow. You still haven't learned any manners I see. You yell my name after me, I don't stop.

I think you started crying, but I'm not going to be the one to comfort you. No one was there for me, why should I show you the same pity gentleman or not. Call me spiteful, I'd call myself careful.

I can't trust you, not again. Still though you follow, why I didn't take that spare key from you I don't know. Why I didn't call the police when you begged me to let you in and I refused with you trailing in anyway?

I don't know. I don't want to see you. I want to see you. It hurts to see you.

You comment lightly on how nothing seems different in here. Letting yourself into my kitchen you ask if I'd eaten yet. I can't even speak and just shake my head no. You laugh saying neither have you and welcome yourself in as you always have. As if nothing changed, you mock my ability to cook obviously spotting the stray burn marks on the stove top.

You make Yorkshire pudding and I mentally curse you for trying to be considerate. Remembering my favourite dinner and the time it took you to learn how to make it. I manage a tiny thank you and numbly eat it. You're hurting me, this kindness, and this normalcy. You watch me eat it, looking for your old love. The blithering git who'd blush at the romance you attempted by making it which they would deny liking it later.

I eat it simply commenting it's good. You beam and start eating your own plate messing up the table. I still don't think you can tell everything's changed. Maybe not on the outside, but inside I feel cold.

I can't bear to turn you away though. I want to, to stop this aching in my chest. I haven't seen you in so long; I wanted you to come back. I cried for months for you to come back, but you never came.

I don't know what I want. The yearning for you to stay is breaking though, and when we finish, you hesitantly ask if you can, (it's may you idiot), stay the night. I mutely nod my head. You take my empty dish and clean them saying your goodnight going to the spare bedroom. I have to swallow the lump in my throat wanting to ask you to come in my room.

I don't think I'll sleep this night. I'd been holding it in the few short hours you've been here, but I can't anymore. The tears come and I just want to scream I hate you. You shouldn't be allowed to do this to me anymore. You turn up out of nowhere, and I just... how do you think I'd handle it?

You sleep like a log so I don't even try to muffle my cries. Not like you'd come in anyway.

For some reason though, you keep managing to surprise me. As I feel myself start to calm down, I hear a knocking and you softly asking if you can come in. I try to yell go away, but my throat betrays me allowing you in.

I must look pathetic, so stop giving me that pitying gaze. I see it in your stance you want to comfort me. Why can't you see, you're the one hurting me? I lose myself in my thoughts and miss you speak. I force myself to ask you to repeat it.

"I'm sorry."

I clench my teeth trying to suppress a sob, and all I can yell is just idiot. You invite yourself to comfort me anyway, and I try to push you away.

Isn't this what I wanted though? All those months, I waited and waited. My body doesn't even listen to me as I just cling to you and cry, screaming horrible things at you. I can feel you shaking, and I don't need to look at your face to know how guilty you feel.

You just stroke my hair and hold me. I yell at you why did you come back. You hesitate looking at the ceiling simply saying you were wrong. I just bury my face in your shoulder asking why it took you so long and you just murmur sorry over and over kissing my head.

I slowly feel myself pass out in your arms, exhausted.

.

.

.

I feel as if in a cocoon with my head pounding. I groggily snuggle more into the cocoon. I must be going delusional, but I haven't felt such comfort in a long time.

It's then I remember the night before and try to bolt up, but am kept encircled in arms that I stopped denying I missed. I feel myself give in and close my eyes resting my head back on your shoulder.

The sheets don't feel so cold anymore. Warmest they've been in a long time actually. I just cling, hoping that it stays that way.


End file.
